


talk a lot, pick a little more

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Haymitch Abernathy in the 75th Hunger Games, It appears I've written a jabberjay fic, Jabberjays, Oh Dear, fandom cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3472517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d strangle one of those birds until it spit out what it knew or he’d die trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	talk a lot, pick a little more

**Author's Note:**

> Well now, it appears I've gone and written a fandom cliche. Oooooopsies.
> 
> _~~i'm not actually sorry long live fandom cliches~~_

_I volunteer_.

Two words that had thrown away whatever decades remained on his life like they were nothing. He should have known that a promise to Katniss would someday get him killed.

Haymitch wasn’t kidding himself. He knew full well he wasn’t going to live to see the end of this. He was painfully out of shape, once well-toned muscles softened by booze and the depression that came with outliving his loved ones. Many of the other victors were still young, still desperate. His job was to get Katniss to the end – protect her and buy enough time for Plutarch to set their plan in motion. Plain and simple.

He’d stepped into the tube with the full knowledge that he was voluntarily walking to his death, but that knowledge alone hadn’t been nearly enough to force down the rolling clench of nausea and panic as the platform started to rise.

Being in the arena again was a scene straight out of his most detailed reoccurring nightmare.

Katniss’s jaw was wired tight, eyes on the glint of gold around Finnick’s wrist. Peeta’s token – it had taken that to get her to trust him. Or at least, it had taken that for Katniss not to kill Finnick on sight, which was really all Haymitch could hope for at this point.

His own token burned on his wrist as he dropped heavily onto the beach, catching his breath as the wet sand crunched beneath him. A respite, however brief.

“Haymitch.”

Haymitch tore his mind away from his memories, from hands shaking as they pressed a golden bangle into his numb fingers.

_A team… aren’t we?_

Not for long, sweetheart.

Katniss sat down next to him and he turned his head to look at her. Finnick had moved away, towards Johanna, as though to give them the illusion of privacy in a world where their every move was being broadcasted to the entire nation.

Katniss was chewing her lower lip raw, and Haymitch reached out and tapped her lips with his finger. “Stop that. You’re bleeding.”

She took a deep breath and Haymitch realized with a jolt of horror that Katniss was about to apologize.

“No. We’re not doing this. I did what you asked, Katniss. I fulfilled my promise. You came to me and you asked me to volunteer for Peeta if his name got pulled and I did that. You asked me to die, and I did that.” He glared at her profile, jaw set tight. “Don’t cheapen that by _apologizing_.”

If the words came out a little bitter, well, he had every right to be.

Katniss was quiet for a few moments. “I wouldn’t change it.” She said finally. “If I could go back. I would still ask you.”

Haymitch gazed resolutely ahead, staring unfocused at the water lapping against the beach.

“I just. I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Haymitch hated those words. They never fixed anything. They were only necessary if you’d already caused pain, if you’d done something worth apologizing for, and even then, apologizing changed nothing. Just a balm to soothe the wounded feelings of the naïve.

“I know.” He said, voice tight.

Katniss put a hand on his shoulder and they sat there, silent, listening to the sounds of the water and the jungle behind them.

“Haymitch, I’m glad—” Katniss started, the words halting and unsure.

_“KATNISS!_ ”

Katniss’s eyes blew wide and she was on her feet and racing for the trees faster than a blink. “PRIM!”

The change was so abrupt that it took Haymitch a long second to react. “Shit!” He cursed, shoving himself up and tearing after her. Finnick and Johanna were racing across the beach after him, shouting for Katniss to stop, to calm down, to listen, but Haymitch ignored them, pouring on speed. He lunged, reaching deep into himself for the vestiges of strength adrenaline was providing him, and tackled Katniss to the ground.

She thrashed and fought to get away, punching and kicking, but he held on like grim death.

The screams were getting louder, birds perched on tree branches shrieking in that high-pitched child voice.

“It’s not her, _it’s not her_!” Haymitch roared, finally wrestling Katniss enough to where he was straddling her, pressing her arms into the sand. Her eyes were wild, unseeing, and she struggled to free herself. “Katniss, it’s not her! It’s the jabberjays!”

But the birds kept _screaming_ that horrible noise and Katniss was screaming too, pained raw screams. Haymitch released her arms and she clapped her hands to her ears, squeezing her eyes shut.

Haymitch was so preoccupied with Katniss he nearly didn’t notice the new voice join the shrieking – but Finnick did.

_“FINNICK! FINNICK, HELP ME! HELP ME, PLEASE!”_

“ANNIE!” Finnick’s voice was a roar, filled with unimaginable pain, and Haymitch’s head whipped around just in time to see him take off towards the tree line.

“Johanna, grab him!” Haymitch snarled, but Johanna was already moving, lunging for Finnick, missing her first grab but making contact on her second try, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving, hard. Finnick stumbled and swung at her blindly, his fist making contact with her cheek. Johanna’s head snapped around and she swore, loudly and explosively, before tackling him to the sand, where they grappled fiercely.

Haymitch rolled off of Katniss, who instantly curled herself into a ball, screaming with her hands over her ears, like she could drown out her sister’s screams if she could only keep shrieking louder, and watched Johanna and Finnick for a moment, ready to jump in if he needed to.

He was poised to pounce, on hands and knees that ached with age, when he heard it, almost quiet compared to Annie and Primrose’s layered screams of terror.

He almost didn’t recognize it.

_“HAYMITCH!”_

And he thought everyone he loved was dead.

What a fool he’d been.

Haymitch was on his feet before he’d realized he’d moved, taking stumbling steps towards the trees. His feet felt heavy, like his shoes were filled with lead, and his heart was thudding a pained, terrified tattoo against his ribcage, as his mind beat the words _no no no_ over and over and over again.

Not her.

_“HAYMITCH!”_

No, they couldn’t. She hadn’t done anything – she was _innocent_ , damn it, wide-eyed painted innocence, she hadn’t done anything, hadn’t known anything. He’d made sure of that, lied through his teeth even in their last moments together. She had no idea what Plutarch and he had concocted.

_Why hadn’t they left her alone_?

He stumbled and fell to his knees, the panic bubbling up into his throat until he couldn’t breathe. The noise around him rose to a cacophony, but all he could hear was Effie screaming his name, breathless fear in every syllable.

How the hell had the Capitol realized what even he hadn’t known?

“Fuck.” He wheezed, struggling to his feet. He’d strangle one of those birds until it spit out what it knew or he’d die trying.

“Haymitch, no!” Johanna’s voice was sharp, biting, but it sounded like it was coming from a million miles away underwater, all distorted and confusing. “Haymitch, it’s not real! _It’s not real!”_

But it _was_ real – where else had they gotten her voice?

He ignored her and took off for the nearest tree, where the jabberjays had congregated, screaming his own name at him in a cruel mockery.

Something hard hit him in the side (he hadn’t even realized he’d been running that fast or that hard, blood pumping, knees screaming—) and he went sprawling to the sand, landing hard on his shoulder. He huffed an agonized breath as pain shot down his arm. Johanna was in his face, screaming at him to snap out of it, and it took him a moment to realize he was screaming back.

The same sentence, over and over, roaring it at the top of his lungs –

_SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SAFE!_

Johanna reared back and he took the opportunity to surge upwards, shoving her away, hell-bent on reaching the trees. If he could catch a bird, he could… he could… he could do something. Make it talk, strangle it until it repeated everything it had ever heard, he didn’t care. He just had to _catch those damn birds_ that were hanging above him, screaming his name in Effie’s voice.

Something crossed Johanna’s face, something determined and frustrated and angry, and Haymitch had barely a split-second warning before she reared back and punched him in the face. His head snapped backwards and he slumped, barely feeling his body hit the sand before his world went blissfully, mercifully quiet.

-

Miles away, in the District 12 suites, the cameras caught the last moment of agonized fury on Haymitch’s face, every line, every dark circle, every bruise, every spot he missed shaving in full digital Technicolor before it went slack and he slumped backwards, unconscious from Johanna’s strike.

Effie’s hand slid down the screen, falling limply to her side. Peeta stood behind her, jaw tight as he stared in horrified silence. Effie took a deep shuddering breath, unable to stop the horrid, wrenching sobs being torn from her chest. Tears and mucus mingled on her cheeks, smearing her make-up, but for the first time in her life, Effie couldn’t bring herself to care.

Her palm stung where she’d smacked the screen, over and over, and her throat was raw from trying to make herself heard over her own voice.

_It wasn’t me it’s not me Haymitch I’m fine that’s not really me Haymitch please stop please be careful please come back please please please—!_

Manners, Effie.  Her mother always told her. If you want something, you must say please.

“Please…” Effie whispered, hoarse, and crumpled to her knees, head dropping into her hands, smearing make-up onto her gloves. “Please.”

Peeta’s hand was heavy and warm on her shoulder, but Effie didn’t turn to face him.

“Effie, come on. You need to sleep. How long has it been?”

But Effie didn’t move, numb with grief, and after a moment, Peeta sighed and sank down onto the floor next to her, close enough to brush their shoulders together, and pulled his knees to his chest to wait out the night with her.

Behind them, the door to the suites swooshed open and footsteps, sharp with urgency cracked across the floor.

“Effie Trinket and Peeta Mellark.”

Effie’s head raised and she hurriedly wiped at her eyes, for all the good it would do. There was no saving face now. “Yes?” She said, with a voice that barely wobbled but felt like chewing glass.

Plutarch Heavensbee looked unusually grave, glancing around the room quickly before speaking, quietly. “I need you both to come with me. There’s something I need to tell you.”


End file.
